The Prelude (4)

Freugne’s “Devour Edan” project was proceeding smoothly.

Truthfully, she wouldn’t have minded him making the first move, but that seemed likely to require an inordinate amount of time.

Thus, a timely confession would suffice. The erosion of his mental barriers was progressing gradually.s are creatures of adaptation. Persistent stimuli inevitably raise our thresholds.

Just as constant exposure renders scents undetectable and news stale, Edan was steadily treading this path.

This was before the spring term commenced.

“It’s the new year already.”

“The war is… roughly a year away, you said?”

“Yes, and I’ve also turned nineteen.”

“…And?”

“That means I’m of legal marrying age now.”

“……”

“What if I grow old and die alone? I don’t have many who know about my secret, after all.”

Had this been last year, he would have simply nodded in acknowledgment. And a month prior, he might have reacted with startled alarm, admonishing that such statements ought not be casually uttered, but reserved for one’s beloved.

Yet presently, while his body tensed slightly, he refrained from any further retort.

No inquiries about hypothetical boyfriends or whether someone merited such overtures – the frequency of such remarks had dwindled as he aged.

Of course, his inner turmoil was palpable:

‘She’s my daughter. I mustn’t harbor such sentiments.’

‘But Freugne initiated this, did she not? So perhaps it’s permissible.’

‘No, it’s still wrong. Merely entertaining these thoughts is itself an error.’

Ethical convictions and reality, reason and emotion, were locked in fierce conflict.

Having traversed that path myself, I could empathize with his struggles.

As a veteran of that experience, I also recognized the eventual acceptance awaiting at its conclusion – and could therefore be patient.

All I need do was approach him during his needless anguish over misplaced guilt, reassuring him while encouraging candor.

I was aware that deliberately prolonging his torment bordered on sadism. Yet I harbored no intentions of desisting.

‘Uncle was the one in the wrong, after all.’

Freugne nonchalantly indulged thoughts that would invite her own incredulity.

And yet, she remained resolute.

Had he been married from their initial encounter, she would have accepted it with equanimity.

Even if he had belatedly sought to remarry, she could not claim to have gracefully relinquished all hopes… but would have at least acknowledged his romantic interests.

Yet what had Edan’s recent years entailed?

Accounting for his munitions investments and corporate acquisitions, he had amassed considerable wealth and renown. Power, while eschewed, remained well within his grasp had he desired it.

And yet, had he not rebuffed every marital overture from other women during Freugne’s schooling in Londinium and their Antrim sojourn – much as she was currently doing?

Even an unpalatable fruit warrants a tentative taste.

Yet when that fruit had ripened enticingly, openly dangling an invitation to partake… was that not, in itself, a prior act of seduction?

‘Truly, Uncle was the one in the wrong here.’

How terrifying our thoughts could become when unrestrained, stampeding unchecked without an anchoring presence.

And yet Freugne remained grounded in reality.

Indulging solely in romantic fancies would be ill-advised when mere survival in Londinium was a pressing concern.

“I presume Ceres Martop’s preparations are proceeding well?”

“Yes. The government has lifted all restrictions on military magic research, and the Royal Academy has offered its assistance. The Carno Institute in Belfast has also agreed to collaborate.”

“Heheh.”

“…?”

Freugne silently grinned, regarding Edan with an expectant gaze.

“It’s all thanks to you. I’m grateful.”

“I’m grateful too. It was only possible because Uncle worked so diligently. Without you at Ceres Martop, facilitating such preferential treatment would have been difficult.”

Extending her arms, Freugne embraced him before he could react.

“Ah, speaking of which, Uncle.”

“Yes?”

“You don’t intend to directly participate in the war, do you?”

“Well, not immediately.”

“Immediately?”

“If the situation in Londinium seems precarious, then at that point… ah, I understand.”

Of course, monitoring his actions to preclude any unwise decisions was a component of her contingency plans.

Truly,

None devoted as much consideration to him as she did.

---

Freugne had been acting strangely of late.

In truth, her behavior could not remain entirely unchanged from the moment she had revealed her future sight and shadow cabal ties.

Yet even accounting for that, her recent personal conduct had been peculiar.

While I harbored concerns about descending into delusional thinking, Freugne had preemptively dispelled any notion of mere misperception.

After a sleepless night immersed in contemplation, I entered the Martop premises and offered a slight nod towards the Martop matriarch.

She had been scrutinizing a document even before my arrival – the mercenary recruitment notice, I glimpsed.

“I presume you’ve seen the announcement?”

“This? With it plastered everywhere, it’s impossible to avoid.”

“Not interested, I gather?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Neither am I, particularly.”

While a mercenary recruitment drive had commenced, being selected did not necessarily entail becoming a mercenary.

More accurately, it involved recruiting candidates for specialized anti-Demonic training, with corresponding role expectations.

Ultimately, the title of “mercenary” was neither bestowed by deities nor attained through applications – it was self-proclaimed.

An accolade of awe and reverence reserved for the singular human who ascended to Demon Lord slayer, beheading the tyrant to restore peace.

Yet this did not render the endeavor futile. Perhaps the mercenary of this era would indeed emerge from their ranks.

“You, er… I heard you took on fourteen Demonic Tribe members single-handedly in Antrim?”

“Let’s just round it up to seventeen.”

While the number I had felled stood at fourteen, I maintain that those neutralized while evading should be included for an honest tally.

Hence, I had been spreading rumors of vanquishing seventeen. Though the newspaper reports had ultimately immortalized a different statistic.

“How does one even round up to… never mind.”

“For now, I have no intentions of enlisting. Someone at home would worry, after all.”

So if war erupted, I would likely devote myself to research instead.

Even currently, I was dedicating my full attention to analyzing experimental data forwarded by the Royal Academy’s members, the Carno Institute, and other esteemed institutions, while developing new magical applications.

Ceres Martop’s consumer appliance division had temporarily ceased operations.

For the next few years, we would produce wartime supplies. Outwardly maintaining the facade of an automotive manufacturer, adding armored plating would render our products battle-ready.

“Speaking of which, has Eryne been attending school diligently?”

“Ah, I was just about to mention her.”

Whenever our conversations diverged from professional matters, Freigha and I inevitably discussed our respective children.

Having enrolled them in the same institution provided a shared context for such exchanges.

It seemed parenthood ultimately culminated in this form of convergent evolution.

“Any plans for her after graduation?”

“I expect she’ll join Ceres Martop’s ranks, likely an entry-level position. You had presumably anticipated as much?”

“Yet you won’t simply grant her a prominent role?”

“She should be grateful for the opportunity to join Londinium’s preeminent company. Expecting more would be excessive entitlement.”

She then inquired about my circumstances:

“What about Freugne? Ah, that’s right – she mentioned having a boyfriend. Does she intend to marry after graduating?”

“…No, I don’t believe so.”

After a momentary contemplation, Freigha offered a brief apology:

“Ah, my mistake. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“I understand your thought process, but it’s not a breakup… no, let’s leave it at that.”

“Your response seems rather ambiguous.”

Ambiguous indeed, for I harbored a vague sense of her implications, rendering my response equally opaque.

No matter how insistently I questioned my own judgment, the conclusion remained unsettling.

“It seems the time has come for Freugne and Eryne to drive nails into their parents’ coffins……”

“Indeed. I wonder who will spirit our niece away. Ordinarily, she’s perfectly lovely, but she can be rather hot-tempered at times……”

“Pondering such matters amongst ourselves serves no purpose. Let us simply focus on our work.”

“Quite right. If we work diligently, they may inherit a better world. As for marital concerns, time shall resolve those in due course.”

And unexpectedly, the first nail was not driven into my coffin.

“…Has something happened?”

The following day, upon arriving at work, I inquired after witnessing Freigha intently poring over a letter while compulsively gnawing her nails.

“It’s Eryne……”

“Eryne?”

“She wishes to enlist in the war effort.”

“…Pardon?”